It was the time of month when they would need to come in and clean his cell again; three people in jumpsuits, one with a mop to clean up the pungent mess he had spread throughout the room. But today would be different — today, he had a plan.

The door groaned. The Statue sprinted to one of the corners beside the bulkhead; a spot that was always out of view when they entered, one that they never checked. Not until they were already inside.

He reached the corner, unobstructed by a line-of-sight; it was only then that his physical form, SCP-173, moved to the corner. It never actually moved, and neither did he — it was more akin to a calculation. "If this is my speed, and that's where I'm heading, that is where I will end up" — then his body would simply reappear where it was supposed to be, circumventing the rule of inertia.

Despite its slow start, the bulkhead only took three seconds to fully open. The three D-classes looked in, surveying the room without entering. He could feel their eyes shift, looking and expecting him. They were confused — the room looked empty to them. That was exactly how he wanted them.

The three of them walked in, none of them checking the corners beside the doors. The Statue rushed towards them.

But SCP-173 barely moved.

He was being obstructed by someone's line-of-sight. Someone, outside the container, was watching the three D-classes enter. Nobody ever watched them come in.

One of the eye pods — dash B, the mustard coloured one — rolled out of the chamber and out of ear shot. The other sat, watching the Statue in silence.

'… What is it.'

'Youuuuuuuuuuuu'll seeeeeeeeeeee!'

'No, fucking tell me right now you little shit-stain. What the fuck is it fetching.'

The Eye Pod didn't respond. It had committed to this being a surprise, and nothing would convince it to break its silence. They sat in silence, waiting for the D-classes to finish mopping.

It didn't take much longer. Finishing around SCP-173, the D-class sighed in relief as he deposited the blood and shit-stained mop into the bucket, and signalled to the other two that he was finished.

'Oh, too bad, time for you to fuck off. Guess I won't get to see your surprise. What a fucking shame.'

The D-classes left the chamber. The Eye Pod didn't move, still staring at the Statue. The bulkhead didn't shift either.

'Hey, fuckball. They finished mopping. Time for you to fuck off.'

It didn't respond. It didn't move.

The Statue was about to begin a furious tirade when, ever so faintly, he heard the noise.

It sounded like a stampede of cars, thousands of wheels rolling — all at the same time — towards the chamber. A cold chill ran down the Statue's back; it already knew what was coming. The mustard-coloured Eye Pod rolled back into the chamber.

Then a blue one came in.

'Heeeeeeeeeeey theeeeeeeeere,' it wailed.

A lime green Eye Pod rolled in after it.

'Heeeeeeeeeeelloooooooo!'

Then came a purple one.

Then red.

Then grey.

Then white.

They kept rolling in; each a unique tint or shade, each with their own unblinking eye.

Each with that obnoxious wailing voice, greeting the Statue as they came in.

And they just kept coming.

'Greeeeeeeetings!'

'Heeeeeeeeeey theeeeeeereeeee!'

'Hooooooooooola!'

'G'daaaaaaaaaaaay!'

'Booooooooooooonjoooooooooour!'

Within a minute, the entire floor of the room was coated in a rainbow of Eye Pods — each and every one staring directly at the Statue.